Post by Chelsea Armstrong on Dec 12, 2013 22:33:25 GMT -5
Chelsea: The mark of a true champion…of a warrior…the one true symbol that shows everything, good or bad, about the one that it wraps around. The championship belt; gold, warm, lively, vengeful….deceitful…your one true enemy, the one true item that can make you or break you without you having a true say in the matter.
Staring into my surroundings a gently whisper of wind echoes around me causing a steady chill to run down my spine as I sit at a simple wooden table. Leaning forward my arms rest crossed against the cool surface allowing a perfect spot for my chin to rest as I keep my gaze set forward, smooth breaths pass through my crimson lips as I cross my boot covered legs into a more comfortable position. A faint beam of light passes over me before settling upon the sparkling gold merely feet in front of me on the same table as my eyes are locked on its beauty.
Chelsea: What makes a true champion? Some will tell you it’s the fight that is required in order to keep the status of champion…others will tell you it is that belt of gold resting against your waist showing everyone else around you that even though they are good, that maybe…just maybe you are that much better than them. But I…well I don’t believe that either one of those hold true to the phrase of, what makes a true champion.
Slowly reaching out I allow my finger tips to graze the cold hard surface causing a jolt of electricity to course through my veins. Taking a shallow breath my eyes never break away from the metallic surface as I lean back showing the first signs of my dark blue jean jacket sitting against a black tank top and black leather pants racing into my boots.
Chelsea: I have held this championship for a month and a day…and what have I done? Have I done anything credible, anything to bring prestige to this championship…to myself? I stare at this piece of gold and I do not see my reflection, I see the faces of those before me…Jeff Purse, Polar Phantasm, Sarah Twilight, John Gable…many others all leading down to the very many I defeated for this championship…a man who made history with this championship…John Barber. Holding the title a record breaking amount of days that has put his name forever in the history books…but does that make him a true champion? Holding that championship and making those records is not what has made him the big name that he is now known as…no…what makes him a true champion is something that many people tend to overlook in this industry…respect.
Barber is a man whom I have seen others backstage talk about, the way they say his name alone shows the impact he had not only on this federation but on the Television Championship itself. He didn’t become the big name he is by winning a lot of matches and holding championships…he has done that yes but more so…he has the respect of those that matter, that alone is something that goes a long way. You see holding a championship means nothing unless you are able to bring something unique to your reign…Barber brought with him his history making legacy of surpassing the lengths of all reigns held before him…but I, have I brought anything? I don’t believe I have yet and that alone is something I can’t let just settle against me.
Standing up I circle the small table, my eyes never unlocking from the glimmering piece sitting in front of me, reaching tentatively I run my hand over my nameplate as I can feel each small indention forming the letters to spell out my name.
Chelsea: I came into this company as a no body to those around me; I was and still am not that well known around this federation. I got someone’s attention though…I made someone look for when I came up to only my third match in this company, I was standing across the ring from Barber for this very championship. November…November tenth is when I won this championship; I debuted a mere twenty one days earlier. In only twenty one days someone saw me and saw something in me that made them say…she has potential…but have I proved them right? Do I make them proud or are they hiding their face as they look at a champion that has done nothing in this federation? I wish I knew the answer to that question.
But then another question comes to mind…does a champion exist because of the gold belt? Or does the gold belt exist because of the champion? I believe this can kind of go both ways, a wrestler might not be relevant until they have that gold around their waist but what about those few people who can go their whole career not holding a single gold belt but are some of the most well-known people within the industry. They didn’t need a championship like this in order to put their name on the map…they were that good, but not everyone is that lucky. Some people do need that championship…but at the same time…that championship needs its champion. Without a champion to wrap its gold and leather around it would be nothing but a book stop sitting on someone’s book shelf.
Sitting back down at the table I pick up my Television Championship staring into its mirror like surface as I see my reflection smiling back at me. My thumbs caress each golden detail as I read the words spread across it as if putting it forever in my memory.
Chelsea: This belt needs someone to make it relevant…someone that will hold it proudly in the air and shout at the top of their lungs…”This is my championship! I earned this!”
Echoing through the air my voice rushes back to my ears as I close my eyes listening to the sweet reverberations floating around me. Letting out a slow breath I look back at the championship allowing the golden color to consume me.
Chelsea: To be a true champion you have to know the beauty and prestige of the gold sitting right in front of you, you have to be able to stare into its face and know that your name is not the only one to be associated with that championship…to know that there have been greats before you to hold this championship and if you fail…you are failing them.
That is something I cannot allow myself to do…that I won’t do. Rather they think of me as a fellow competitor or someone who will never amount to their likeness, I will not stop until I have made this championship mean something while it is around my waist. I am proud of this gold and it is time to show just how proud of it I truly am.
Standing up once again I turn facing a full length mirror as I wrap the belt around my waist allowing it to shine brightly as a small light reflects from its surface, my fingers gently run over the championship sending warmth through my body as I stare at my reflections.
Chelsea: WCF’s biggest pay per view, One, is just around the corner and I have been told I am going against someone whom is even newer to this federation than I am, Caleb Fourchon. Caleb I have been watching you since you stepped foot into this company, I mean a man of your stature how could I not, and it has become apparent that in typical giant fashion…you’re size is the only true contribution you can make to the matches you participate in. Now don’t get me wrong, you are two and one I’ll give you that, but have you really shown that you can do anything worthy in this federation? You’re first match in you were eliminated by someone who runs around with a one word vocabulary, your second match you did get a submission in on Gabriel Mephisto III and I’ll give you congrats on that account, but lastly you managed to get a win over one Chase Michaels.
A laugh leaves my lips as I can’t hold it in, staring at my reflection I smile shaking my head before looking back at my championship.
Chelsea: You see the camera might have missed it during your match but I know you weaseled your way into that win…I know that man that you were across from in the ring and I’ll tell you this sweetie, you got out of it lucky! Let me put this in terms that you can understand you…can’t…beat…me. Understand? I don’t care how tall you are or your simple “Lagniappe Bomb “ as you like to call it, your luck will end at One I promise you. This championship isn’t ready to leave my body and honestly, I’m not ready for it to go. So spare me the horrible dialect and your past prison record and just admit defeat before I embarrassed you on live television. Although, wouldn’t that be something a Television Champion should do?
In just ten days you will step into the ring with a wrestler whom is unlike any other you have faced in this industry, in ten days you will stare across from you and see the face of a determined woman. I do not care what you try, I will retain this championship and I will prove why the name of Chelsea Black Armstrong belongs in this federation. Ten days Caleb…that’s all you have…make sure you get in all the training you can because you are going to need it. “This is my championship!” and it will stay that way.
Giving a gently push on the mirror it spins backwards on its axis as I step back to the table taking off my championship, giving one last look at the title in my hands I place my ruby lips against the gold before sitting it on the wooden table allowing the light to act as a spotlight. Walking away the clicking of the heels on my boots reverberates through the room sending it dark until nothing else can be seen but for that prestige Television Championship.
“Are you ready?”
